Oh, yeah. That’s right. ME.
It’s not like it sounds- and I know it sounds like I’m one of those super frilly-fru-fru girls that can’t go a day without makeup. Really, what happened was that I woke up really early that morning, because E woke up really early that morning, and so I had extra time to kill before Clint and I drove into town to the hospital for them to do the slice and dice (I said that on facebook last week, and was told I’m a sicko).
Anyway, so, what with nerves and all, I occupied my hands/time by putting on some eye shadow, mascara, and eye liner. So it wasn’t even like it was a full face of makeup. I’m not THAT ridiculous.
My mother-in-law (a.k.a Super Woman-more on that later) stayed with E while Clint and I went to the hospital. We got there just before 6 a.m. and checked in through the ER. A nurse led us to a room, insisted that I pee in a cup and get naked for hospital gown purposes (worst piece of ‘clothing’ in the entire world, I swear), and within minutes had stabbed me and put an IV in. Blood was drawn, and my mother showed up before anything interesting had even happened, followed closely by my best friend and both kiddo’s god-mother (if you didn’t catch that, I meant she’s the same person. Bear with me, we have a nasty cold going around in our house and I’m short on sleep). I can’t remember who else/how many other people might have showed up before I even went into the OR.
And I wasn’t even on drugs.
The C-section was scheduled for eight o’clock, and probably around 7:30, I think I started freaking out. The silent kind of freaking out, where I was more focused on my nerves than what was going on around me. I’m pretty sure Clint’s mom showed up with E in tow around then, and I think that a nurse might have put those horrible stocking things on me that help with circulation and I hear that E really, really didn’t like that. As in, he touched my toe and I twitched and he screamed and scared the Happy Juice man (er, anesthesiologist) bad enough that every time they saw each other after that, the poor guy was a little wary.
Even if he was scared of my little screamer, he’s pretty much my hero because when I had E, it was a different guy giving the epidural, and I got stabbed with that needle about nine times. This guy? One shot.
Thank you, Mr. Happy Juice man.
And oh, the fascination of not being able to feel half of your body! You know, when you know it’s only temporary.
Clint was with me the whole time, and we were chit-chatting and people were making jokes, and looking back, the whole thing seems totally surreal. I do remember that the baby didn’t want to come out, and so somebody was putting a hell of a lot of pressure on my stomach to get her out. The doctor had to use the suction thing on L’s head. I don’t think that’s real normal for a C-section. Apparently, it was warm and cozy in there and I don’t blame her for not wanting to come out.
Although I’m very glad she did. She’s pretty cute.
And then I threw up on myself. Wait, no, that came right after they showed me my tiny little girl (6 lbs, 10 oz) and let me kiss her on the head.
And then I threw up on myself.
And then there was the recovery room, where I puked some more and was very glad my mommy sneaked back to see me even though she wasn’t supposed to, and I vaguely remember that I woke up in my own hospital room and there were people everywhere.
The best friend was stuck in a corner a lot, I noticed in between groggy, blurry wakeful moments. I didn’t like that. She says that at some point in my conked-out state, I mumbled something about wanting to knock somebody out. Possibly I was angry at everyone for shoving her in a corner. Who knows? I was on drugs.
I spent that entire day sleeping/waking up to mumble things that almost nobody heard/throwing up at random. The nurse wouldn’t let me eat anything until I’d proven I could handle some apple juice, but I kept telling her I would quit puking if they’d get some food into my system. I don’t know who won, but I remember that HEY, after I had a turkey sandwich and some chips, there was no more throwing up.
Thursday morning, they got me up out of bed and I took a shower. And then I wanted to be home. Yeah, barely 24 hours after being sliced and diced, I was ready to leave. Not because I hate hospitals so bad, but because I felt so good. Barely any pain, walking was pretty smooth, I could stand entirely straight.
Completely different experience from the C-section for E.
They wouldn’t let me leave until I’d been there a full two days. But, lo and behold, we made it home with our little girl and I can’t lift anything over 7 pounds which means that Clint’s mom, a.k.a Super Woman, has been a life saver (probably I should tell her that). It’s rough not being able to lift our son (I dunno, a 30 lb. two year old is only a little over my lifting limit, right?).
Oh but hey, enough chatter, here’s a couple of pictures.
More pictures when/if I get to them…
Yay! L is a week old now!